


Governance: Diplomacy & Public Affairs

by OLTRX



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Political AU, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OLTRX/pseuds/OLTRX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked Derek clean shaven or bearded more; the truth was that either way he still looked more like a model than a politician. But that wouldn’t mean anything if he couldn’t prove that he was a red-blooded american and a progressive liberal and an honest, trustworthy man.<br/>So they all stood out on the front porch together, with Stiles watching from behind the row of cameras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Governance: Diplomacy & Public Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I'm forced to look at words for an extended period of time by an authority (aka 'learning') I process the information by making AUS about whatever it is. This started off as an All The King's Men AU and turned into something else totally by the end. I've been working on it for months but only just got around to finishing it; I hope you enjoy!

**Now**

Derek Hale– or The Alpha, as he was more commonly known those days– had rolled the passenger’s seat window down almost all the way, so that just a little crescent of glass was visible, and with the Camaro pushing 70 mph that meant a shock of air was pushing right in. Jennifer was sitting right behind him, and seemed to be getting the worst of it. She did not look pleased. Locks of her curly brown hair were flying into her face and strands clung to the sticky-clear smear of gloss across her lips. This made Peter smile faintly, because anything that irritated Jennifer he loved, but it was a very subtle shift in expression, and Stiles almost didn’t notice it.

Isaac’s large hands jerked again on the steering wheel and the car turned ninety degrees so fast their heads all swerved and Jennifer was greeted with a fresh face full of wind. It was stronger coming in from this direction, Stiles squinted into the pressure and kept his lips pressed tightly shut.

“How are we doing back there?” Derek turned to ask. His hair too was rustled, but that was a style nowadays, and he could get away with it. He was wearing those large, dark aviators that hid his eyes, and the beginning of some shit eating-grin began to sprout across his face.

“Roll the window up,” Jennifer said, jaw clenching. Peter rested his head against his own closed window and laughed gently. Jennifer turned to cast him a scathing look.

“What?” Derek asked. Derek didn’t usually like making Jennifer squirm, but Stiles got the impression that he wasn’t even looking at her. She seemed to feel that too, and snaked her hand up between the passenger seat and the car door to pull the button herself until finally the car was contained in windless silence again.

“Are we there yet?” Peter asked in his highest voice.

“You sound like a child,” Jennifer said. Isaac snickered.

“Let’s stop at that strip mall, just up ahead,” Derek said. “I could use some water.”

So Isaac sent them all careening into the parking lot, and then suddenly, finally, after hours of driving, there was stillness.

Jennifer climbed out easily, one stilettoed heel clicking onto the pavement at a time, stockinged legs leading the way up to her dark skirt and modest blouse. Her hand immediately came up to her hair to gently feel for damage, and once Stiles had finished stumbling out the car door, she leaned in and checked her reflection in the window.

Their party’s second car pulled up just behind them, in the parking space across from theirs, a miracle to find in such a packed lot. Erica climbed out from the driver’s side and trotted over to them.

“What’s going on?” she asked Derek. She hardly spared a cursory glance for the rest of them.

“I’m thirsty,” Derek said. “Where’s Liam?”

“In the car,” Erica said.

“Ask him if he’s hungry,” Derek said. Erica looked like she wanted to protest. ‘I’m not your nanny, go do it yourself.’ But she didn’t. She trotted back over and pulled open a car door, vocalizing a question into the orifice, and then the limber teenager extracted himself and leaned easily on the side of his father’s shiny black car, standing next to his mother.

“You want food?” Jennifer asked. Liam was thirteen at the time, and was always hungry. “Derek, the only places here are a Denny’s and a McDonalds. Are you sure we couldn’t find something healthier?”

“Where?” Derek asked. He did have a point and Jennifer knew it. They were on their way to Beacon City, a small square of nothing filled with orange trees and buried deep in the valley. Consequently, the road to it, or at least the majority of that, was also filled with nothing, lined with nothing, floored with the black tar and surrounded, at best, by a few grazing cows. Eventually, they might happen upon a spot with enough people for a schoolhouse and a strip mall, but this could be the last place with purchasable pre-made food for dozens of miles.

“Let’s go to McDonalds,” Peter said, and Jennifer once again turned her glare on him. “We can go in and out quicker, with less attention, and hop back on the road as soon as possible.”

Derek contemplated it for a moment. His thumb traced across the edge of his rugged, bearded jawline.

“Liam?” he asked. Liam shrugged, which was characteristic of him those days. Then he turned to Stiles, and asked him.

“I don’t care,” Stiles said.

“Alright,” Derek said. “McDonalds.”

“Denny’s is definitely better,” Jennifer said. “Besides, Derek, I don’t really know if I want to get back into the car that quickly.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and he almost looked actually sorry. “But we need to.”

So their posse, measuring about nine in total, crossed the parking lot all herded together and then did what they could to discreetly enter the relatively-large fast food branch.

There were at least twelve people in front of them; though Stiles couldn’t say why, it seemed to be a busy day; and he waited behind Jennifer, because being his wife, she always had priority on Derek and always had to be seen by his side, and behind Liam, because he was hungriest and also part of that family, and behind Isaac, because Isaac was deeply bonded to Derek in a way that Stiles could only know but not understand.

Still, despite being three spaces away from him, he could still see the expression of the cashier when the Alpha reached the counter. She paused, her lower lip quivering gently, and released a mousy squeaking noise, which drew one of the fry-cooks out from behind to check on her, and then the next to check on the first after they didn’t return immediately, and within moments the entire joint was crowded around the counter.

“Is that–” somebody at the back whispered.

“I’m sorry,” the cashier girl said, finger tapping rapidly against her machine. “But you’re– you’re Governor Hale, aren’t you?”

Chaos erupted around them at that moment, like someone had taken off the lid of the pandora’s box, and Derek was egged to the biggest clear space in the establishment while the rhythmic chant of “Speech! Speech! Speech!” began to take over the crowd.

Stiles watched from a distance as Derek regally folded his hands at his low back. He could hear a pin drop the moment Derek opened his mouth.

“I didn’t come here to make a speech,” Derek said. “I’m just here on vacation with my family, visiting my mother’s farm. I’m not here to try and get votes from any of you, to shake hands with your pastors and hold your children. No, this is my day off, and I’m here just to spend a short day with my family, and then I’ll return back to state business and I promise that sometime in the future I’ll swing back around here and make nice, but today is not that day, and I won’t make any speeches right now.”

The crowd eased around him; the light on someone’s phone was visible as they held it high over the heads of their neighbors. He made his way back to the counter.

Everyone’s ears were prickled and turned towards him.

“I’m sorry for the commotion,” he said apologetically to the cashier girl, and she looked as if she might die. “Could I get a cheeseburger?”

 

**Then**

When Stiles first met Derek, he was still working as a politics writer for the Chronicle, and the only reason he was swinging by Kira’s bowling alley in the first place, which was also deep in the valley but not quite so deep as Beacon City, was to try and get the local word from Peter Hale (if he felt like talking) and Duke Lion (if he could even stand to look at Stiles for an extended period of time). Stiles’s relationship with Duke was dependably awful; Duke thought that Stiles was an idiot. Of course, Duke thought that everybody was an idiot, but with Stiles he was at least somewhat right and he knew it. Peter was the same way, but he was the kind of person who was endlessly bemused by the proceedings of the little people. He kept his hair combed and slicked, his face clean shaven, and there was a hefty gold ring on his finger. He didn’t go for anything as flashy as diamonds, he was subtler than that. It also helped that Stiles was a political writer, and Peter was involved in politics. Stiles thought he might try to buy him out someday, for the favorable influence on all of four-thousand readers in the tri-county area, but he hadn’t made that move yet, and so Peter hadn’t learned that Stiles was not the kind of person to be bought.

 

Stiles had entered the building that day, got a drink from Kira at the bar, and then headed over to where his party was seated around a little table in the back. The place was almost dead, but Peter and Duke liked their privacy.

“Stiles!” Peter said as soon as he saw him in the doorway. “Come in, come in. I’d like you to meet my nephew, Derek.”

And there, sitting at this private table in the back room, was an unexpected third person.

The first thing Stiles noticed about him was the impressive forearms, with the long sleeves of his white ribbed shirt pushed up past his elbows and the buttons undone just past the collarbone. Then he saw Derek’s actual face. He might’ve been angry, or maybe it was just a massive case of resting bitch-face; Stiles found it hard to tell.

Of course, Stiles had practically no self preservation instinct anyway, so he shook his large, calloused hand and sat down across from him.

“Do you want a drink, Derek?” Peter asked. “Stiles could get you a drink.”

“Or maybe Kira could, since she actually works here,” Stiles said, keeping a grin as well as he could. Peter chuckled.

“You’re tense, Derek,” Duke said. “Have a drink.”

“I don’t drink,” Derek said. Peter turned to Duke, and it was like they were sharing a private joke.

“That’s right,” Peter said. “Derek’s wife doesn’t like him to drink.”

“Really?” Duke asked.

“She’s not a fan,” Derek said, though the question was rhetorical and not aimed at him anyway. “Her ex husband used to drink.”

“She’s a schoolteacher,” Peter said. Duke leaned back, and finally he was looking at Derek again.

“I remember you in school,” Duke said. “Always a teacher’s pet. You loved it. And now you’ve married a teacher.”

“He has,” Peter affirmed.

“Teacher’s pet, Derek Hale,” Duke said. He started laughing, a chuckle that builded from low in his stomach and cut off just before it rose to his chest.

Stiles hated Duke. Stiles hated Peter, too; and his big gold ring. When Peter went to take a drink it clinked against his glass and everyone could hear it over the ambient noise of the room.

“So Derek, what do you do?” Stiles asked. Derek had been looking at him almost this entire time, but now that Stiles had spoken it was like he started paying attention. His eyes raked up Stiles’s body; he could feel them lingering around his lips.

“I’m in politics,” Derek said. This made Duke sit straight up.

“Really?” he asked. Peter laughed.

“Yep,” Peter said. “The old teacher’s pet has now put his math skills to good use and become treasurer.”

“Where?” Duke asked.

“Beacon City,” Derek said, but this did nothing to quell Duke’s surprise.

“That’s nice,” Stiles said.

Later, Stiles got bored of listening to Duke and Peter making smarmy jokes to each other and went out to sit near Kira at the bar. She was a nice girl, and she worked hard. Stiles had known her for a while, she and his best friend Scott dated one summer during High School. She made pleasant company. Then, more than a few minutes after, he was joined by Derek.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Derek asked him. Stiles’s eyebrows rose.

 

**Now**

They all pulled up to the old Hale House, firmly in the middle of a nice orange grove, and Liam was the first one out, cooly speeding over to casually hug his grandmother. Talia Hale was a relatively young grandmother, and a strong woman. She stood on that porch waiting for the politicians to burst in with her hands on her hips, tanned skin sagging from wiry but firm muscles. It was summer-time then, and there were ice cubes in her old dog’s water dish.

“Derek,” she said with a tight smile, and her son gruffly kissed her on the cheek.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for him to have a beard?” Jennifer asked one of the photographers.

“I don’t know, ask his publicist,” the photographer said. Jennifer sighed.

“Derek, most politicians don’t have facial hair,” she said. He looked back at her tensely.

“What?” he asked. “Do you want me to go inside and shave right now? When we’re about to start the shoot?”

“There’s got to be at least twenty minutes before they’re finished setting up,” Jennifer said.

“Stiles?” Derek asked. Jennifer tensed visibly.

“She’s right,” Stiles said. “Most politicians don’t have facial hair.”

“Honestly, you look like an underwear model right now,” Erica said as she brushed past. “Good job if that’s what you’re going for, but old bitter white men are the most frequent voters and I’m not sure this will appeal to them as much as it will the young city crowd.”

Derek frowned and walked inside, but he beckoned to Stiles as he did so, which meant Stiles was soon following him into the bathroom, watching him shave his jaw in front of the small stained oval mirror above the sink.

“What do you think?” Derek asked. Stiles sat down on the toilet lid.

“About the beard?” Stiles asked. “Well, it’s already halfway gone, so I think it’s a little bit too late for that.”

“About Jennifer,” Derek said.

“She’s your wife?” Stiles said. “I like what she’s been doing with her hair lately? Tell her thank you for making Liam wear the light-up sketchers I bought him even though he obviously doesn’t want to?”

Derek chuckled at that.

“Trust me, he wouldn’t be wearing them if he didn’t at least secretly like them,” Derek said.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Stiles said. He sighed, and looked at the clean wick of the scented candle behind him. It hadn’t been lit yet. He wondered what the scent was. “I think she’s suspicious, or maybe just irritated.”

 

“She’s a smart woman,” Derek said. He turned on the tap and the water drizzled out.

“She is,” Stiles said. “But I don’t think it would take a smart woman, Derek, with the way you’ve been paying me so much attention. I understand not wanting to go public with your sexuality, or making your affair known; this isn’t France, that wouldn’t fly here. But if you keep acting the way you do then they’ll all just figure it out on their own.”

“So let them,” Derek said. Stiles stilled.

“You don’t mean that.”

Derek sighed, and he looked visibly upset.

“No,” he said. “I don’t. But I wish I did.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked Derek clean shaven or bearded more; the truth was that either way he still looked more like a model than a politician. But that wouldn’t mean anything if he couldn’t prove that he was a red-blooded american and a progressive liberal and an honest, trustworthy man.

So they all stood out on the front porch together, with Stiles watching from behind the row of cameras.

“Why don’t you get the dog over there, huh?” one of the photographers suggested. “It’d be a nice image, really.”

But the dog was lying in the dirt, ten or fifteen feet away, with the yellow-brown dust all over its coat.

Derek went over there and scratched behind its ear; its tail hardly budged, and the rest of it sure didn’t move. He whistled, he snapped his fingers. Talia went over there and put her fingers up under the collar and tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge or even look at any of them.

“Genim,” Jennifer finally said, “why don’t you carry over the dog?”

Stiles grit his teeth. God, whenever people used his first name... Especially Jennifer. That’s how he really knew she was irritated with him.

“Yeah, Stiles,” Derek said. “Why don’t you carry that dog over.”

“He’s not moving,” Stiles said. It was a big, old dog, and Stiles... Stiles was probably quite a lot weaker than Talia.

“Damn it, Stiles, do what I pay you to do,” Derek said, though there was no heat in it. So Stiles lumbered over there, bent over, and wrapped his arms around that dog as best as he could.

“Just call me Igor,” Stiles said, and though Jennifer looked unamused Derek looked at least a little bit entertained.

He stumbled a little bit, and when he plopped it down in front of the happy family it was hardly well arranged, but he left that up to the photographers to take care of and stepped out of frame. He looked down at his arms; his sleeves were all dirty now, scuffed up and browned in a lot of places. He’d have to change his shirt before they went out again.

He found Derek in the grove later, after everyone else had driven away or gone inside. Peter Hale, Lieutenant Governor, had probably left instead of sticking around to chat with his sister; he didn’t seem like an overly personal man. Derek pretended not to be, but Stiles knew he was.

“I used to pick oranges,” Derek said. Stiles thought back to the calloused fingers of that handshake those years ago.

“I know,” Stiles said. Derek looked between the trees.

“It was a lot easier than politics,” he said, “but a lot less fun.”

Stiles stood next to him in silence for a few minutes longer before Erica came out.

“Derek–” she called out.

“What?” he asked.

“–listen–” she said.

“I’m listening,” he said. Then she stopped, because she’d sprinted a distance to get there and was now panting heavily. “Erica, what’s going on?”

“I can’t talk,” she said. “I’m catching my breath.”

“But you’re talking right now,” he said. “You just talked to tell me you’re catching your breath.”

“Shut up,” she said.

“There you go again!” he said. “Can you believe this, Stiles?”

“I cannot,” Stiles said.

Then, suddenly, as if the spark of life was restored to her, Erica straightened up and said, “Judge Argent has decided to support Deaton’s candidacy. Peter called me just now, he was just on the phone with Duke.”

“What?” Derek asked.

 

**Then**

Stiles had dinner with Derek’s family once, back before they were working together. Derek had his number from that night at the bowling alley so he called Stiles over.

Stiles didn’t know why. He never really learned. Nothing happened between them that night. He just sat across from Jennifer and Liam, who was much younger then, and who was playing with his food.

“I’ve worked at this school for seven years and they’re going to lay me off now,” she said. “They said somebody had a complaint with my teaching style; none of them had any complaints before.”

Derek seemed resigned. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s the new schoolhouse,” he said. “They’re hiring one of Peter’s friends from out of town to help build it; I’m opposed, but they’re saying the guys I want to use are going to bring in a fresh load of Mexicans. So what? If they want to do the work, we should pay them to, and it’s cheapest, nobody can deny that.”

“You know how people are,” Stiles said. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Derek said with a sigh. “I do.”

Well, Derek was not reelected to his small local position, and so he went back to oranges for a while, and helped his mother around the house, and they all lived at home with Talia. Jennifer got fired from the school and Derek decided to study law. Then, when he’d learned all that he could, he passed the bar exam and became a lawyer, and started working some relatively high-profile cases, which brought in some money but wasn’t really what he wanted to do.

Then, a few months after that, the fire escape at the new schoolhouse collapsed and a few children were injured. Derek had been proven right.

So one day Peter came knocking at his door, and Derek asked him what he wanted straight away because Peter was not a family man, and Derek was whisked back into the world of politics.

The truth was this: Derek had a good number of loyal followers in the valley from that schoolhouse incident, and if they didn’t vote for Derek for governor they’d vote for Peter’s enemy, who had most of the votes of the northern cities but who would be brought to tie with Peter’s friend politician just by the votes from the valley. So Derek was going to split the vote, and he didn’t even realize it.

Until Erica came rapping at his door one night and to yell at him to quit his pacing and emptied the whole truth out right there. Stiles was in the hotel room next door, and he heard some type of glass shatter against the wall. He wasn’t so sure who threw it, but he thought it might’ve been Derek.

A lot of things changed over the course of the next few years, but Stiles was still writing about politics for the Chronicle.

“Listen, Stiles,” Finstock said. He had entered into Stiles’s very small office which was, in fact, a converted broom closet, and leaned against one of the walls. “You’re not saying a lot about Greenberg in your column.”

“There isn’t much to say about Greenberg,” Stiles said. “Even you know that.”

“Sure there is,” Finstock said. “Listen, I know you used to be chummy with Hale–”

“We’re not actually friends,” Stiles said. “I met him once. He was a nice guy.”

“Well, you sure write like it,” Finstock said.

“Listen, I like what he has to say,” Stiles said. “I like his message and I think the state has a good future with him.”

“But Greenberg,” Finstock said. “It’s not all about what you or I believe, Stiles, it’s about getting the news from all sides, and you’re hardly doing that.”

“So, are you firing me?” Stiles asked.

“No, but I’m telling you to step up your game, son,” Finstock said. For some reason, it was the ‘son’ tacked onto the end that really ticked him off.

“Well then,” Stiles said. “I quit.”

“What?” Finstock asked.

Stiles folded his laptop and walked out. He had, what, maybe fifteen dollars worth of office supplies at his desk? The stapler wasn’t even his, he’d lifted it from Sandra.

“Stiles, come back here, listen–” Finstock said.

Two weeks later, Stiles was woken up at ten in the morning by the ringing of his phone. Sunlight was beginning to stream in through the bent brown blinds.

“Meet me at the capitol as soon as you can get there,” Erica said. “The Alpha wants to hire you.”

“The Alpha?” Stiles asked.

“The Alpha, The Boss, whatever,” Erica said. “Governor Hale. Move quickly.”

 

**Now**

Jennifer set the plate of beef down on the table, careful to make sure none of the drippings fell onto the white lace table setting, and then she put down the corn, and the asparagus, and the grilled squash. Isaac waited for Derek’s motion, then took a lot right away. Stiles believed that might be a product of his upbringing. He didn’t know very much, but he did know that Isaac was a friend of a friend who Derek housed for a little while when Isaac was in a rough spot, and then later hired.

Derek asked Liam about school, and Liam talked about his science project and the book they were reading for English class, and Jennifer watched on.

“Peter didn’t stay?” she asked.

“No,” Talia said, though she hardly sounded disappointed. “He didn’t.”

Finally, Derek put his fork down and looked straight at his mother.

“I’m heading out.”

“Heading out?” Talia asked, incredulous. “Where are you going?”

“There’s some business we need to take care of,” Derek said.

“Politics? At this hour?” Talia asked. “I thought you might stay here tonight, hang around with the rest of us, play cards...”

“I wish I could,” he said, and he kissed his mother’s forehead. He really did look like he wished that.

“When will you be back?” Jennifer asked.

“Late,” Derek said. She nodded and said something quietly to Liam.

Stiles and Isaac followed him out the door. They all got in the car.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” Stiles asked.

“Beacon’s Landing,” Derek said.

“That’s–”

“It’s where the Judge lives,” Derek said.

“This is insane,” Stiles said. “It’s already dark out. We’ll get back at like, two in the morning.”

But Isaac was already driving.

Despite sharing the name ‘Beacon’, Beacon City and Beacon Landing were far apart; Beacon Landing a small coast town settled by those few who’d struck rich gold mining and made some chance industrial investments. It was where Scott lived, and where his wife Alison lived, who was the daughter of the Judge. It was where now hollywood famous Lydia Martin had come from, and her media tycoon husband Jackson Whittemore. It was where Stiles had come from, and where his father was Sheriff.

Stiles honestly fell asleep pretty quickly; he didn’t usually have the whole backseat of the Camaro to himself, so he stretched out and took advantage and pretty soon he was drooling on the upholstery. He was good at sleeping; he could sleep wherever he wanted to. It only felt like minutes later that they arrived at the Argent estate, and Stiles was sent first to the door.

It was late, but evidently, the Judge was up.

“Stiles?” he asked, clutching his phone in one hand. His velvety red robe went down past his calves.

“Hi,” Stiles said, because what else was there to say when you showed up at somebody’s door so late at night? “I’m sorry to drop by so late.”

“No, it’s no problem,” the Judge said.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Stiles said sardonically. The judge raised his eyebrows.

“Will you come in then?” the Judge asked.

“I think we will,” Derek said, and then he brushed past him straight into the living room. Some kind of recognition flashed across the Judge’s face, and then he went blank again.

“Governor Hale, how nice of you to stop by,” the Judge asked.

“Stiles, will you pour me a drink?”

And Christ how Stiles didn’t want to be involved in this pissing contest, but he had to be.

“Pour your own goddamn drink,” Stiles said, and he closed the door behind Isaac, who looked ready to pour as many drinks as Derek asked.

“Judge Argent, would you like a drink?” Derek asked. “Can I call you Chris?”

“Chris is fine,” the Judge said, and Derek did pour him a drink, which he took little sips out of. Derek offered one to Stiles, who only refused because he was a little bit angry.

“I have a few questions for you, Chris,” Derek said. “I hope you don’t mind if I get straight down to business.”

“Not at all,” the Judge said.

“You’re supporting Deaton now,” Derek said.

“So that’s what this is about,” the Judge said.

“That’s not a real response,” Derek said.

“You didn’t ask me any real questions,” the Judge said. Derek sighed, and took a swig of the whiskey.

“Fine then,” Derek asked, near growled, “Why are you supporting Deaton now, when you were supporting me before?”

“I agreed with you before,” the Judge said. “Now I don’t.”

“Is there anything I could do to... make you agree with me again?” Derek asked.

“Are you bribing me?” the Judge asked, though he still didn’t seem very phased.

“I’m saying that no man is as pure as he thinks he is, and if you won’t let me do this the easy way it’s going to happen the hard way,” Derek said.

“So you’re threatening me,” the Judge said.

“Call it whatever you want to call it,” Derek said. “I will persuade you. I think you should do this the easy way, for your daughter’s sake.”

Stiles knew that it was empty, and the Judge should have too; Alison was a nice girl, and they were well acquainted, but that was what did it, and suddenly the Judge was two inches away from Derek with his jaw trembling from the effort of keeping shut.

“Get out of my house,” he growled. “Leave now!”

So they all left.

Stiles slept on a cot in the basement, next to Isaac, who snored heavily, and then he returned to the Capitol with Derek, but Talia wanted to spend more time with Liam so he and Jennifer stayed behind, though Jennifer seemed anxious to go.

Stiles returned to Beacon’s Landing just a few days later, on his own.

Chris tried not to look to offended when Stiles came in through his doorway.

“Stiles!” Scott cried out, and jumped over towards him. He flung his arms around Stiles and then they made their way to the dining room, where Alison was playing the piano.

“Hello Alison,” Stiles said.

“Hello Stiles,” she said. “Dad said you payed him a visit the other night.”

“I did,” Stiles said. He turned back to Chris. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s forgotten,” Chris said with a terse smile, but that was how he always was.

“Did you hear Lydia’s coming to town in a few weeks?” Alison asked.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, and nearly choked on the drink he’d picked up off the counter. “No, I didn’t. She found a pause in her busy schedule for us? Or is her mother sick?”

“No, everything’s fine,” Alison said. “She just said she needed a break.”

 

“I can imagine,” Stiles said.

“How’s work going?” Scott asked. Scott disapproved heavily of Derek’s politics, but he was kind enough to usually not say anything to Stiles’s face.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said.

“Good,” Scott said. “Is he a good boss?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Scott asked. “Just let me know when you need me to kick someone’s ass for you, and I’ll do it.”

“Alright,” Stiles said with a faint smile.

“By the way,” Scott said, and reached back to pull a tallish blonde girl from her conversation. “Stiles, have you met Heather?”

“I... have not,” Stiles said, and shook her hand. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Did we... go to school together?” she asked. “Elementary school?”

“Maybe,” Stiles said. “I don’t have the strongest memory of that time.”

Scott made a shooing motion, and the two of them walked out onto the balcony.

Heather was nice. She was really nice. She didn’t ask about his job and he didn’t bring it up, neither did they talk about politics. It was all very nice.

At dinner, they all clinked glasses and ate and held nice discussion.

“How’s working for Hale going?” Melissa asked.

“It’s going well,” Stiles said.

“Governor Hale?” Heather asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said. He caught the Sheriff’s look, and said, “Hey, it’s good pay.”

“Police work is good pay,” his dad said. “Or acting, like Lydia does. Or media, like Jackson.”

“Would you laugh if I said none of those jobs provide the same emotional fulfillment?” Stiles asked.

“Probably,” the Sheriff said.

“We just want to make sure you’re happy, Stiles,” Melissa said.

“Yes,” the Sheriff said. “But does it really have to be doing this?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “He makes me happy.”

“He makes you happy?” Chris asked with raised eyebrows.

“This job, working with him,” Stiles said. “Inspiring speeches all the time. I’m always motivated. It’s better than any posters.”

He drove Heather home that night, and she gave him her number.

 

**Then**

 

The knock came at his door after the sun had already set. Stiles was alone in his shitty apartment with the bent brown blinds, splayed out across his couch, reading. He took a few minutes to get up, roll on his heels. He didn’t expect that, when he got to the door, it would actually be for him. He thought somebody was looking for his neighbors, maybe, and had gotten lost.

But there was Derek Hale, wearing his aviators in front of Stiles for the first time, wearing jeans and some sweater.

“Can I come in?” Derek asked.

“Uh– sure,” Stiles said. Derek shut the door behind himself and threw his sweater onto Stiles’s couch, right where he’d just been sitting. “What are you doing here, Derek?”

“I wanted to see you,” Derek said. And that was how it started, Derek hale in his shitty apartment, toeing off his shoes in a highly unprofessional manner, tossing his things on top of Stiles’s things.

The aviators came off, and the eye contact was heated.

“You have a wife,” Stiles said. Derek closed his eyes, and Stiles was scared for a moment that he was about to leave.

“I do,” Derek said. “But I don’t love her.”

“What, and you love me?” Stiles asked. “After such a short amount of time?”

“I want to learn how to,” Derek said. “Besides, she’s sleeping with my uncle.”

“Peter?” Stiles asked. Derek hummed. “You don’t seem very upset.”

“We both sleep around,” Derek said.

“That doesn’t make it right,” Stiles said. Derek moved closer.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

He dragged his lips across Stiles’s jawline, and then he pressed his mouth to Stiles’s.

Stiles shouldn’t’ve let it start then; he shouldn’t’ve gone with it as easily as he did. But he did. He pressed himself up against Derek, ground his hips down onto Derek’s, let Derek’s stubble scratch against his neck.

He moaned, and arched up into it. Derek dropped to his knees right there, and hovered with his fingers over Stiles’s pants button.

“Can I?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said. “God, please.”

Stiles squirmed against him, ground up against his knuckles as Derek unzipped his pants. Then Derek’s mouth was on his dick, kissing lightly at the head. He took Stiles all the way down, and it was an effort not to buck up into it. Derek pressed his hips up against the wall.

Stiles came quickly, and then he unbuttoned Derek’s pants, took his cock in hand, and stroked him fast and hard until he came in spurts across his palm.

Stiles didn’t really know what to do after that, but Derek did. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a paper towel, and cleaned him off. Then, he kissed Stiles, and walked him over to the couch.

Stiles thought he probably loved him after that night. Derek was young for a politician; thirty three years old. Not that much older than Stiles, really. And he hated sushi. And he liked sleeping around, and he hadn’t told anybody that he liked guys more than girls and he thought his wife didn’t know that either. Nobody knew Stiles liked guys either.

Stiles watched him rise. He watched him stand at a podium in front of the State Capitol building, shouting to a crowd.

 

**Now**

Stiles had watched their silhouettes through the glass office windows. There was a light on somewhere in the other room, and it cast a long shadow against the tan paper screen. She pulled at Derek’s tie, he kissed her. Her hair was done in perfect curls, she was skinny. It was all he could think about, looking at the office of the Governor the next day.

“Stiles?” Erica asked. He looked at her, her curls and her makeup. The slender curves her pencil skirt framed. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” he asked. She caught his eyes and smirked. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to grab a drink after work?” She clicked her long red talons across the hard wood desk, and then swooped up a green pen. “Purely friendly, of course.”

“Of course,” Stiles said. He rubbed his eyes. That image was burned into his lids now. He felt some kind of dread pooling in his stomach. “How soon can we get out of here? Honestly, I’m ready to get plastered.”

Erica’s smirk widened into a full grin, and her eyes flared with vicious, animal excitement.

“An hour or so to go, but I’ll let you know as soon as we can clock out,” she said.

A few hours later, he was sitting in one of her dining room chairs, looking at her over a bottle of whiskey. The gentle breeze ruffled the curtains. Erica poured him another drink.

“Be honest,” he said. “Did you invite me over just to make Boyd jealous? I know he saw us leave the building together. That’s a low blow, even for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Erica said. “Plus, if he feels threatened by you so easily, I don’t think he’s the right man for me.”  
Stiles snorted. “Thanks.” The alcohol burned on the way down. “When are you two ever going to get together? Can it be soon? I’d like to take home the office pool, for once.”

Erica shrugged. “I’ve been fooling around. I don’t want anything too serious right now.”

He felt the dread and the anticipation; before he heard her say it, he knew.

“I slept with him,” she said. A fly was buzzing, somewhere.

“Him?” Stiles asked. “Who? Boyd?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said with an eye roll. “You know who.”

“Do I?” Stiles asked. He was watching the fly, now. It was over there on the couch, flitting between strips of dull black leather. He could feel her eyes examining his face, tracing along his jawline and cheekbone up to his own eyes, trying to map his expression.

“Oh my god,” she said. He closed his eyes. “You did, too.”

“Erica,” Stiles said. He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t angry, though, not really. Not even jealous. Something else.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said. “I knew what I was getting into.”

Which was true, anyway.

“I didn’t know he was gay,” she said.

“He isn’t,” Stiles said.

“And neither are you?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“There are more than two options,” he said.

“It was a one-time thing,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Stiles asked, standing up. “He fucks a lot of girls, Erica. If you like it, go for it, don’t worry about me. I don’t care. It doesn’t make a difference, either way.”

She gave him a contemplative look, and he squirmed. Erica had a way of looking at people that suggested she always knew something they didn’t, that she could skim their thoughts, and she did it with that stupid smirk like she was just amused by everything.

“Go out with me,” she said. “I’ll make Boyd jealous. You’ll make Derek jealous.”

“I couldn’t,” Stiles said. “I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”

“Why not?” she asked, and then she was slithering over, because even though she walked next to him on her own two feet he got the distinct impression of a snake. “He does it to you all the time.”

And that was true, and he could feel his hand twitching, and he wanted to hit Derek hard across the jaw and then disappear into the sunset with guns slung low on his hips, so he turned and kissed Erica, pushed his mouth against hers.

Then he felt the gentle sensation of her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

He went home after that, took a bus because he was drunk and then passed out on his bed after scratching up the front door knob with his key.

He was awoken by the ring of his phone, and the words “Let’s get coffee.”

Ten minutes from his house by car was a little shop run by a nice local family. It was quiet. He went there almost every morning before work. He almost didn’t recognize her at first, but of course she was wearing those large sunglasses that covered her eyes, and her hair was done up. He slid into the chair across from her.

“Lydia!” he said. She smiled and hugged him. “How have things been going, down in Hollywood?”

“You know how it is,” she said with the wave of a hand, though he really didn’t. “Busy, I guess. I can’t tell you what I’m working on right now, but I think you’ll like it.”

“Is it Star Trek?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” she said.

“Does that mean yes?” he asked. She gave an exasperated sigh. “Alright, let’s try something else then. How’s your dick-bag boyfriend? Have you decided to ditch him and come chill up here with us finally?”

“Actually...” she said. She spun her coffee stirrer, and the latte art turned into more of a latte tie-dye.

“Really?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, I think we’ll get back together when I come back down, but it’ll be nice to take a break, relax back at home, not have the press hounding at me all hours of the day.”

“That’d be nice,” he said with a smile.

“That’s right, I almost forgot,” she said. “You’re in politics. Supporting him.”

He gave a cheeky grin.

“All my friends hate him,” he said.

“Then why are you smiling?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he didn’t really. It fell from his face as soon as she pointed it out.

“Are you alright?” she asked. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Do you ever just... contemplate the decisions you’ve made in life? The Chronicle payed pretty well. I hardly ever had to show my face anywhere.”

“You’re not usually one to question yourself,” she said, “or even to think decisions through so thoroughly.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’ve heard reflection can be a good thing.”

“From who?” she said. “Isn’t everything all never-look-back live-in-the-present nowadays? What did you do, Stiles?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what I did. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“One of the perks of acting,” she said. “You hardly ever have to make your own choices.”

“Is that why you fired your agent?” he asked. She smiled.

“Nobody else gets to talk for me,” she said. She sipped her drink, and so did she. Some pigeons in the park across the way began pecking at the remnants of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich left out on a picnic table. “I did something.”

“What?” Stiles asked. Lydia sighed, and dragged her hand through her hair.

“I slept with someone.”

“Do tell,” he said with an impish grin.

“No, not like that,” Lydia said. “Not in a fun way.”

“A regret way?”

She nodded. “Which I only mention at all because I think you might be the last person through which I could quietly make contact with him.”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “Who is it?”

“Someone you work with,” she said. “I understand it’s a lot to ask, given standards of professionalism and all that, so I’d like to call in the unspoken event of 2009 if possible–”

“Not my boss– not the Alpha, right?” Stiles said. He leaned in, and then let his head fall to the table. “Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ. Lydia–”

“No,” she said, and he looked up. She leaned closer in, and hissed into his ear, “Peter Hale. What’s going on with you?”

Stiles propped himself back up.

“Really?” he asked. “Why? What could possibly draw you to him? He’s so... gelled.”

“He’s powerful,” she said.

“Which is exactly why this is a problem,” he said. “Your reputation– his reputation– though you aren’t the first superstar to hook up with a politician, obviously.”

“We were at an event together. Circumstances, et cetera. I don’t plan to continue it. At the very least he’s unmarried– unlike Derek,” she said. He leaned back in his chair, but through her glasses he could tell her eyes were still trained on him.

“What’s that look you’re giving me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me.”

He squinted at her.

“What message do you want me to pass on?”

She reached into her thick grey peacoat and pulled an envelope from an inside pocket; discreet, white, addressed to P. Hale in Lydia’s curly but clear script. He pocketed it immediately.

 

“He’ll know who it’s from, but you can say something if you want,” she said. “As long as he doesn’t throw it out.”

“I hope you’re not trying to blackmail him, if that’s what this is,” he said. “I cannot recommend that in any way. Peter’s too dangerous to fuck with, and I am ninety nine percent sure he has zero moral compass whatsoever.”

“You’re being pretty loud with your opinions,” Lydia said. “Don’t you care if anyone hears?”

“I wouldn’t hate being fired right now, if that’s what you’re asking,” Stiles said.

Lydia pursed her lips and started picking at a croissant.

“Do you remember when I was dating Aiden?” she asked.

“Jesus, are we going back to high school now?” he asked. She gave him a silencing look.

“I was sleeping with him and Jackson both for a almost a month,” she said. “He was the new kid; he understood that there was something moderately serious between Jackson and myself. But of course, Jackson was a lot worse back then, and I liked being part of such an intense power couple more than I liked listening to him bitching about lacrosse practice for an hour everyday. So, eventually, I dumped him, and then I dated Aiden for a while, and there was that hard-core fight between the two of them.”

“I honestly don’t even remember most of that,” Stiles said.

“Not surprising,” she said.

“Moral of the story, though?” Stiles asked. Lydia menacingly clicked her french manicure against his cup.

“Relationships are messy; don’t make them even messier,” she said. “You can live without anybody if you’re willing.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles said.

“Neither do I, then,” she said, and bit off part of the pastry. “Maybe I’m just... reflecting. I’ve heard that can be good.”

He almost laughed.

***

Lydia was always right. Why wait for the I told you so?

He had more than a few pieces of paper in his pockets when he walked into his office in Sacramento. Erica greeted him at the door.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Derek’s pulled ahead of Deaton again, he’s called a meeting–”

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“What, at the meeting?” she replied.

“Never mind, just walk me there,” he said. “How long?”

“Not sure, brief, probably,” she said.

He followed her at a brisk pace down the carpeted hall, and through the swinging oak double doors.

Jennifer, Peter, Boyd, Derek, and two others were already involved in heated discussion. Derek paused talking briefly to look up at Stiles.

“Where’ve you been?” Peter asked.

“Nowhere. Just late,” Stiles said, hands in pockets. This earned him a disapproving glare from multiple people in the room.

“Could I please have the documents I asked for?” Derek asked. He seemed a little bit upset, too. Stiles was briefly remorseful.

“Certainly,” he said. He dropped his briefcase on the nearest coffee table and cracked it open. The stack of papers was placed on the edge of the table.

“I need you to run down to Linda and get a copy of the R-12 reports,” Derek said. “Rick has the last three chapters of the Jefferson too, so if you could go there– and a latte.”

 

“I’m not your PA,” Stiles said slowly.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Erica is your PA,” Stiles said. “And I... am sorry to interrupt this meeting.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked. His expression cleared from cloudy to concerned.

Stiles pulled the first envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Peter.

“Lydia Martin sends her regards,” he said. He barely caught the look of bewilderment Jennifer threw. Peter was obviously withering internally, but externally was stoic and moderately confused. Next, Stiles turned to Erica with a small letter he wrote her. He gave a small smile.

Finally, Derek.

“I resign,” Stiles said. He handed the envelope with his papers directly to Derek. Erica’s jaw dropped.

He waved just slightly at Erica on his way out, and let the doors swing shut behind him just as they’d swung open so few moments ago. He thumbed the top button on his jacket.

God, he hated suits. He hated them so much.

He swept the contents of his office– the stuff he’d payed for, at least– into his briefcase, and tried to smile.

Predictably, someone put a hand on his shoulder as he tried to leave and said in a gruff voice, “Mr. Hale would like a word with you.” He let himself be led back to the meeting room, which was empty now except for Derek.

Then, it was silent, and they were alone.

“Why?” Derek asked.

“You’re not going to fight for me to stay?” Stiles asked. Silence. “It’s okay. You can’t. I know. And I’m not really asking you to. I understand. I was talking to a friend, and with her assistance I had a nifty little revelation, which– well, which I can’t entirely remember, but boils down to this: You’re a dick, you’re my boss, you’re fucking me, and now I’m leaving because a combo of any two of those would already be too much for a sane person to tolerate. So.”

“If you need money–” Derek said.

“I don’t need money. It’s not about the money,” Stiles said. “It’s about living the way that makes me happy, which I think will involve no longer being employed here, or fucking you... And you slept with Erica. She’s your PA. It’s such a cliche it’s not even funny!”

“Is that what this is about?” Derek said. “Because I’m sorry, I hope you know that.”

“It isn’t,” Stiles said. He sighed. “I’m going now.”

He walked away; through a small window, he could see a shot glass shattering against the wall.

***

Erica kept Stiles updated on all the hot office gossip that wasn’t totally confidential. Apparently she and Boyd hooked up, but didn’t start dating. Apparently she’s actually had to start taking over all the PA duties now that Stiles is no longer there to be cajoled into performing them. Apparently Derek’s been unhappy. So has Jennifer, too. Apparently they’ve been fighting. Apparently she tried to get Liam to stop wearing the light-up sketchers but he wouldn’t.

He’s indulged himself in imagining it a few times– Jennifer Hale, usually queen of cool, screaming and shouting, with Derek shouting back. Not within hearing range of Liam, of course– maybe while he’s away at a camp. He doesn’t want Liam’s life ruined, just a few moments of domestic unease, a little bit of Jennifer wobbling in her surety, before everything inevitably smoothed over. Stiles was, surely, not the first continuous affair Derek had been a part of, not the first Jennifer heard about, not the first that had ended.

Apparently he needed to _turn on the TV right now god DAMN IT_.

He brought his coffee over to the old brown leather couch. He and Derek had sat there together, once upon a time. He grabbed the remote and turned the small boxy television on.

The camera lights were flashing. Derek was hunched over a microphone.

“–is with great regret that I have not upheld the many basic standards of American decency that you have come to expect of me. First and foremost, I have not been honest with you.”

Stiles unseeingly punched out a text to Erica on his smartphone– _is this live???_

Instant response ping: _nope_.

“I have let fear control me and dictate my action and appearance; I have faced the same issues of many of you but, unlike you, I have not risen above them and proven myself the better man. Many of you have heard speculation of a divorce between me and my wife, Jennifer Hale–”

Stiles set the coffee down.

“–and while generally I do not like to address rumors publicly or bring the issues my personal life into the public sphere, I must confirm the separation between myself and Jennifer Hale, and also declare myself publicly as a queer man–”

He texted her again– _Holy fuck_.

“–while promising that neither of these will have any negative effect on my ability to govern for the remainder of my term. Thank you.”  
Derek stepped back, and the reporters went crazy, screaming, shouting.

I know, she replied.

The doorbell rang. Stiles stood and looked at the door for a few moments, silent, jaw slung wide open. It rang again. He scurried over.

He opened it and, surprise surprise, Derek Hale in his sharp grey suit with the pinstripe waistcoat and his hair mussed up. Isaac stood unsurely beside him, lingering at the door. They must’ve rushed directly over. They must’ve driven at the speed limit or above.

 

Derek stepped inside.

“What are you–” Stiles began, then stopped. He wished he’d had more coffee.

“Did you see the news?”

The television was still flashing the image of Erica taking over, post Derek’s departure, informing the masses that there would be ‘no questions at this time’.

“Of course,” Stiles said. Isaac was eyeing him. Derek was eyeing him too, in a much different way. His eyes were simultaneously soft and desperate.

“I wanted to see you,” Derek said. He was inching forwards, step by step.

“You don’t have a wife anymore,” Stiles said. Derek shook his head. “Why not?”

“I wasn’t in love with her,” Derek said. “She was sleeping with Peter. I was sleeping with... a lot of people, really.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “You were. Guess what– Dick move, Governor Hale.”

“But you know what,” Derek said.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I was really, truly in love with one person.”

“Was it me?”

“It was you,” Derek said. “And it is you.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smiling a little bit.

“That doesn’t really fix things,” Stiles said.

“I know,” Derek said. “But is it a start?”

“It is definitely a start,” Stiles said.

And right there, in front of Isaac, in Stiles’s little apartment with the television going in the background, Derek kissed him.


End file.
